


the rape of miss goldberg (in trousers)

by ghettoblasterz



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, In Trousers, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Marvin (Falsettos) Being an Asshole, Other, this shit deep lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoblasterz/pseuds/ghettoblasterz
Summary: an hour long class feels like an eternity when marvin is stuck in his teacher miss goldberg's drama class. so, he puts pen to paper to ease his mind, but nothing can ever go right for this poor child.





	the rape of miss goldberg (in trousers)

**Author's Note:**

> a song narrative :)
> 
> dont mind the awkward alterations I was really trying ok

The classroom was alive, bustling with activity and artisan interests, lighting up the spring afternoon and each and every soul within the high school. It was a drama class, and all the more creative students, thoughts swirling about their heads all day, pent up and now revved to release in the form of manuscripts and Shakespearean quotes, were set free, taking their place in the world only to be forgotten and undermined ultimately.

Most were away from their desks, reciting plays and preparing for their performances--except for Marvin, of course, planted firmly in his seat and eyeing the poor teacher at her desk with a deadly stare from the very back corner of the classroom.

He and his chillingly dark eyes, usually quite quick and observant, we're focused only on the unfortunately well-built Miss Goldberg and the manuscript of his newest creation strewn across his desk like dead leaves scattered across the forest floor in autumn. 

It was titled THE RAPE OF MISS GOLDBERG. He'd already gotten down a plot and two characters; now it was time for the action.

But there was something lacking within him, something lacking in his play; he'd rehearsed it all in his head a multitude of times...each and every time he'd lay down in bed, his temples throbbing, pulsating like a conglomerate mass and dizzying him to the point of nausea. Every waking hour was spent thinking of her, thinking of Miss Goldberg.

He needed her. He needed her to prove that he was a man, who not only society needed him to be, but how he needed himself to be. He needed her in his play. The women themselves were expendable, interchangeable with the flick of his pen; what mattered was that they were equipped with full breasts and a cunt.

He watched as she, oblivious to his powerful glare, tucked a strand of her pompous curled hair behind one leant ear. Marvin unknowingly followed suit--he would've laughed at the similarity of their hair too if he had been at all in his right mind. But, alas, he'd slipped out of that “right mind” several years prior.

What a woman Miss Goldberg was. Sunglasses propped across the bridge of her pointed nose, hair poised about her triangular head like a flamboyant hat, a decent jawline for a woman of her age--Marvin paused, shaking his head and staring back down at his script. 

Stupid. Why wasn't he thinking about something sexy, like her tits or her curves or…? Like hell if he knew. He'd tried several times, but always wound back up at sunglasses, or how much he yearned for the fabric of her shirt, regardless of how tightly it encased her chest.

Sunglasses, back to sunglasses. Now he was too afraid to look back up, his head hung low, shamefully, in fears a horrible, looming monster bearing his truth would be hanging over him when hid wavering vision returned, ready to swallow him whole at a moment’s notice.

Sunglasses, THAT'S COOL MISS GOLDBERG! THAT'S COOOOOOL!

A shadow suddenly eased itself over his work, enveloping his own and submerging him in that very darkness he had been dreading, forcing him to raise his head. Now the monster would begin to feast, tearing him apart piece by piece until he was in shambles and forced to fester in his truth. First the groin, then the heart, then his arms, legs, knees, shoulders--then radio silence.

His eyes darted upwards, only to be met with something much worse than a monster; his girlfriend.

“Hey, stud,” she giggled, nimble fingers gripping excitedly on either side of Marvin’s desk. Her petite figure was hunched over to meet his face, her back arched and both legs straight as a ruler. After Marvin hadn't responded for a moment or two more, she retracted, plopping herself down atop the edge of the wooden surface. Sunlight peered back over Marvin’s play, which he quickly flipped over. 

Marvin forced a smile. “Hi.”

“What’cha writin’?” she asked, groping for the sheet in front of him.

Without thinking, Marvin’s hand lurched forward and seized her wrist, squeezing it as a boa constrictor’s deadly grip holds its prey in place. She froze, pulling away sharply before Marvin could even attempt to utter a word.

“I,” he stuttered, pulling the paper closer to his chest and running a hand through the nape of his tight curls, “I'm sorry. It's… it's not done yet.”

She frowned, disregarding his startling action somewhere deep within the confines of her young mind. “Oh. Well--you'll let me read it when you finish, right, babe?”

“Definitely,” Marvin said. He winked, charming the poor girl into believing him, although he had had no intention of allowing a soul to know the play even existed. “Now, why don't you let a man return to his work?”

A smile broke across her face, punctuating her light hair with deep dimples that no ordinary man could resist. She tugged at her shirt, blushing a little and admitting, “Get on to it. I'm sure yours is far better than mine.”

“Impossible. Anything you do is flawless.” He'd lied again. He hated the way she gossiped at the lunch table. He hated the way she and all of her friends groped him in the halls, touching and sliding and grabbing and pulling and tearing him apart. Just the thought of her made him sick to his stomach--the thought of any girl in the damned place. Yet here he was. And here she was, as his very own high school sweetheart.

She blushed again. “Wow. Thank you--love you, Marvy.”

A grimace begged to show itself, unable to take the pressure, yet he was somehow able to suppress it. “Love you, too.”

And with that, she skipped off, thin, spindly legs trailing under her and a big fat grin stretching a mile wide lighting up the room. Marvin wished her the best, really; a distant part of him wished she'd find the play, read it, and somehow understand what he was going through, break off the relationship herself, and maybe even set him up with a boy on the soccer team.

Marvin, petrified, smacked himself on the forehead, again and again and again. NO. GET BACK TO YOUR PLAY.

The paper unfurled itself to him once more, almost elegantly, yet too tragic to hold any real value to any soul besides Marvin. It laid across the polished wooden desk like a fucked out lover in his hypersexual eyes, the color scheme maroon and black, which inspired him to continue. The pen that had been twirling within his squared fingers was ready to jot his every will, his testament and his strife. The tip pressed to the paper.

THE RAPE OF MISS GOLDBERG  
by Marvin

SCENE ONE:

He paused again, exhaling deeply before returning another glance to the teacher. There were no apologies gracing his thoughts. Again, expendable, again, interchangeable--hell, he could be writing in regards to his repulsive sweetheart if he so pleased, but something about her innocence steered him away.

Miss Goldberg eyed him back for a moment, although Marvin couldn't actually see her eyes beneath her sunglasses.

Sunglasses. Cooooooool.

She paused before making a face at him and shrugging, indulging herself back into whatever else she was doing that was more important than her shithead student. 

She knew about his antics, alright. One day, about a week prior, Marvin had come to her and begged to be a part of her newest play, of which she was fully planning on keeping a secret from him but the word had somehow found itself floating about the school body. He'd begged and begged and begged for a role, until Miss Goldberg just about ripped out her own hair.

Go ahead, play Columbus! Stop begging! Stop making me crazy, Marvin--crazy, Marvin! 

She did love the way Marvin carried himself. He seemed to be a respectable, knowledgeable boy, who only had a few...rather undesirable tendencies. The issues were the staring, the obsessing, the screaming and the pent up anger and…

SCENE ONE:  
(MISS GOLDBERG’S classroom)

MARVIN: Hi, Miss Goldberg.

(MISS GOLDBERG raises her head to him.)

MARVIN: We're alone at last. I turned fourteen just today, and I thought for a not unseemly price… you'd introduce me to the wonders of the bed! Maybe even treat me nice…

Marvin imagined her reacting to the shallow monologue. Sitting upright in all her wise glory, her face contorted with pure confusion and concern--he loved it. He'd watch all the color drain out of her face and smile, since he knew she could fix him just fine.

MARVIN: I'm the boy throwing fits, HE WHO PUTS THE CHALK INSIDE HIS EAR! My dear, do you know me from a hole in the wall? Cute, but rarely nice or good or kind. But, dearest, please accept my hand…Miss Goldberg of perfect womanhood.

It sounded false. These weren't words Marvin could even dream of spouting from his own foul mouth--these words were eloquent. Maybe even mature. Marvin knew that he was neither of those things, but realism wasn't his goal anyways. His goal was erotica and a fantasy that he could prove set him straight. 

He was hunched over the table, his nose almost touching the paper, and all fears of someone catching him were long gone. This play had been rehearsing itself in his own head for far too long.

SCENE TWO:

MISS GOLDBERG: Oh, why? Why should Marvin jump on Miss Goldberg? Why should Marvin dump on Miss Goldberg? I knew…I knew his secret when I first looked in his eyes…those bastard, cold eyes…

(MARVIN leans into her.)

MARVIN: I like your eyes, Miss Goldberg.

(In a panic, MISS GOLDBERG stands upright and runs downstage.)

MISS GOLDBERG: LIES! LIES, HE HAS NEVER SEEN MY FACE!

MARVIN: I have never seen your EYES.

MISS GOLDBERG: I did my job, I didn't ask for this--I taught!

MARVIN: That's true; you minded your business and taught.

MISS GOLDBERG: (seizing his wrists, countering his advances towards her shapely body) KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY EYES!

MARVIN: BUT the business at hand…

MISS GOLDBERG: KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY--

MARVIN: (grabbing a hold of her arm and pulling her towards him) BUT THE BUSINESS AT HAND...IS…

Marvin forced himself to turn away from the page, sheepishly shying off out of embarrassment as to what he'd just penned. By the end, he'd begun pressing so hard as he wrote that the paper was near tearing, the tip of the pen ravaging across the pure surface with no mercy. It felt horrible, all of this energy pent up inside of him was supposed to be releasing back into the world...yet it wasn't. Where was the payoff? His eyes traveled to his sweetheart, who was seated peacefully at her desk and writing her own skit just as he was; except, hopefully, hers was far different than his.

The paper called him back. He couldn't mope any longer; he promised himself he'd finish the piece by the end of the hour, and things were just getting good--for him, at least.

Sunglasses.

SCENE THREE:

MARVIN: I always liked the way you wore those sunglasses, in and outta classes--I like it when you get angry in them, in those glasses--that's COOOOOL, Miss Goldberg. You know, I always thought those glasses hid your passion, I said, I always said I think that's Miss Goldberg’s style, her fashion, but, now it's my birthday! And here's my surprise; I'm gonna see your eyes, Miss Goldberg. I'm gonna see your eyes, my darling.

(MISS GOLDBERG screams, shoving MARVIN to the ground and climbing on top of him, her fist reared back.)

MISS GOLDBERG: DON'T TOUCH MY GODDAMN EYES YOU LITTLE SHIT I'LL SCREAM I'LL THROW A FIT I'LL BEAT YOUR HEAD IN WITH A HAMMER!!!

Marvin laughed to himself. Perfect. No you won't, Miss Goldberg. You're all in my head now.

SCENE FOUR:

(MISS GOLDBERG climbs off of MARVIN, stumbling away before returning and standing before him, who’s now climbed back to his feet.)

MISS GOLDBERG: Look, look, look...my eyes are MY eyes. Your hands are your hands--just keep your dirty fingers away from my face, kid...that's the only thing Miss Goldberg demands.

(MARVIN is unhappy.)

MARVIN: Now move.

SCENE FIVE:

(MISS GOLDBERG does not.)

MARVIN: NOW MOVE!

(MISS GOLDBERG still does not.)

MARVIN: LISTEN! I'M A BASTARD BUMMER WITH A PENIS, AND NEED US TWO TO BE TOGETHER, TEACHER YES I DO I DO I NEED US TWO TO SCREW TOGETHER ME TOGETHER YOU TOGETHER…MISS GOLDBERG!

MISS GOLDBERG: What?

MARVIN: MISS GOLDBERG!

MISS GOLDBERG: WHAT!?!?

MARVIN: MAKE MARVIN A HAAAAAAAAAAPPY BOY!

And scene. Marvin was writing at a vigorous pace now, not as concerned about stage direction as he was his dialogue. He knew where everything took place, and that was all that mattered, since he was to be the only living being to ever read it. His forehead had broken into a sweat, and his eyebrows were contorted into pure frustration. The play was taking a wild turn and he didn't know how to stop it.

SCENE SIX:

MISS GOLDBERG: What do you want? Get off of me--GET OFF OF ME! MARVIN--

MARVIN: (grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to him, groping with his other hand) Please, please rub your hands between my knees and--

MISS GOLDBERG: WHAT!? GET OFF!!

(She continually tries to push him away, but to avail, punctuated by pleas from MARVIN to allow his actions.)

MARVIN: PLEAAAAAASE!

(MARVIN pauses, terrified. He pulls away from MISS GOLDBERG, fidgeting anxiously and waiting for his verdict. MISS GOLDBERG understands. She knows his secret.)

Marvin dropped his pen, freezing as if on cue. Thankfully, nobody else in the room paid him any mind, but he was shivering, choking back tears and frantically shaking his head. He couldn't do it. Why he thought he could ever do such a thing to a woman was beyond him--now his stomach was churning and the just the thought of looking up at his poor teacher made him yearn for a good length coil of rope or a blade.

He needed to make things right again with his damned pen--he couldn't allow a fictional world in which he proceeded to commit such an atrocity to exist.

SCENE SEVEN:

(MARVIN stands there as MISS GOLDBERG shakes her head. She adjusts her blouse, and he doesn't throw a fit about it.)

MISS GOLDBERG: Marvin...Marvin always gets the things he wants. (She exhales defeatedly) Except the things he “wants”.

(Silence.)

MARVIN: Marvin always gets the things he wants.

MISS GOLDBERG: ACCEPT the things he wants.

(More silence. They have a new understanding of each other. MARVIN turns for the door, before suddenly pausing, turning back to MISS GOLDBERG.)

MARVIN: You want my telephone number?

CURTAIN

Marvin slammed the pen back down onto his desk, his head falling shamefully into his hands, just to be caressed by something physical. It took everything inside of him not to break down right then and there, start sobbing and yelling and mourning for the life he knew he could never have--but then he'd blow his cover. Everything he'd ever worked for would swirl down the drain, into some capitalist utopia of which he couldn't allow himself to lose to.

Thankfully, the bell erupted into its song before he found himself too conflicted. His sweetheart didn't wait for him, and followed absentmindedly right out of the room with some blonde Marvin was terrified of after she had insisted on stroking his chest until he was visibly distraught. They wouldn't be a problem again until lunch.

He quickly shoved the play into his backpack without another look or any consideration for its well-being, throwing it over his shoulder, shoving his pen behind his ear, and starting towards the door.

But, just as his play had predicted, he halted just before it.

Miss Goldberg.

He spun around on his heel, licking his lips and sizing the woman up, although most of her was hidden behind her desk. Sure, he felt bad. Just not bad enough to confront her, or frankly, anybody about it.

“Miss Goldberg?” he asked, his body convulsing a little inside as her sunglasses tipped up to him.

Her face, although her eyes weren't directly visible, already seemed annoyed. She dreaded just thinking about the Jew even opening his wretched mouth, where sat atrocities and obscenities and curses and apparently her own name, quite often. The distracting way her clawed finger rapped against the wooden desk only sent chills up Marvin’s spine, so badly that he almost forgot what he wanted to say.

What did he want to say?

“What?” she said, the words escaping her reddened lips in a grumble.

Marvin took a moment, shifting in place. The world seemed to stop dead in its tracks, aiding him in wallowing in the silence. He gradually replied, “Have a nice day, Miss Goldberg,” before turning and leaving the classroom, abandoning a part of him there for good.


End file.
